


Chained by a Thread

by ActuallyAPotato



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Andiros, Awkward Tension, Dark side Consular, Extreme levels of sass, Gay. Very gay, Gray Jedi, I need a tag especially for the Emperor and his mindfuckery, Jedi not following the Jedi code, Kiru'vel, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Miraluka, Mirialan, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Read at Your Own Risk, Save this poor Jedi child he asked for none of this, Scourge gets no redemption, Scourge is really not helping, Serious emotional torture/manipulation, Sith Pureblood, Slow Build, Slow Burn, There's a lot of mindfucking going on, This is going to end badly- isn't it?, Torture, Trust Issues, Whole lot of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8835436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActuallyAPotato/pseuds/ActuallyAPotato
Summary: The Knight is balance. He is the calm and the eye of the storm all at once; angry and vengeful, yet kind and compassionate. He walks a thin line, one that must first twist and snap before he can even dream of reaching his true potential. Scourge doesn't know who this Knight is, but he knows what he can do- and what needs to be done to make him understand the limitations he's placed upon himself.This is the Knight from Scourge's vision; the Knight that will defeat the emperor, and in doing so, save the galaxy...and free Scourge. All he has to do to accomplish it is to simply let himself fall.





	1. Introduction to Madness

**Author's Note:**

> So. Male Jedi Knight/Scourge. Why have I not seen more of this? My dear SWTOR fans, it makes my heart so heavy to see such a lack of a pairing that has such POTENTIAL. (Not to mention that Scourge is 110% beautiful, but we can move past that for now. (Who am I kidding, my level of gay will never leave me alone, I apologize.))
> 
> Of course, since I have only seen one fic with this pairing- ONE, across the ENTIRE INTERNET, therefore: one across ALL OF HUMANITY'S VAST STORE OF KNOWLEDGE AND STAR WARS CRAP- I've decided to contribute my gracious attempt at this ship. *Rubs hands together* I'm going to enjoy falling into this hell. One way ticket to sin, please.
> 
> I've made an attempt to portray Scourge in character, using both SWTOR and the book 'Revan' as references to his personality, goals, motives, etc, but since not much of it is shown, I'm just trying my best and hopes it works. That being said, I may be tweaking the Jedi Knight storyline ever so SLIIIIIIGHTLY, just to get the feel I'd like for this. (Okay, I tweaked it a lot, judge me. Go on. JUDGE ME)
> 
> (Just letting you all know, the fic I mentioned is called 'Sunspots,' and I urge you all to check it out, because it is a glorious work of art that deserves endless praise.)

It was cold, so cold. How long had he been in this room for? One hour? Two? A day? More? It had felt, still felt, like he had been stuck in this bleak square of damp air, grey walls, and sharp angles for millennia.

There was nothing here. In the absence of light, all color, all  _senses_ , the muted darkness weighing on him like a physical blight, all he could do was think. Not hope, hope was worthless here- only thoughts did any good.  
So think he did.   
He thought. He thought about what he had been forced to do. He thought about the dark, the cold; how it felt to be taken by that dark shadow. It had sat on it's throne, and with the ease and grace of a true ruler, had stolen his mind, taken his will away from him and left him to spiral down into the black chasm below him.

Thoughts in his mind, thoughts that weren't his own. They were too dark, too twisted and corrupt, too much like the  _shadow_ , to belong to him. He hadn't thought them, he hadn't thought or wanted or asked for  **any of this;**  they weren't his! Yet he found himself doubting, wondering, egged on by that small voice in the back of his head that whispered lies into his ear, telling him that  _yes,_ they  _were_ his own thoughts, and he had been  _sick enough_ to think them up on his own. **They weren't his**...were they?

He'd thought that thinking would save him from going mad, assumed it would keep away the little voices and nagging thoughts and disturbing visions. It should have kept him grounded in reality, layered his world in enough truth to shield his mind from the worst of what was being done, but reality was harsh, and slowly, slowly, he slipped away.

 

#

 

Silent as a shadow, Scourge stood outside the Jedi's prison and watched. The one way glass, made to look like regular durasteel to its occupant, kept its captive isolated, disoriented. Separated from his allies, mind ravaged for weeks by the Emperor, thrown in this little cell, it all made him easier to break.

Looking over him now, Scourge almost doubted that this was truly the Jedi he'd seen in his vision all those years ago. When the tiny Knight had first come, he'd stood tall in front of the Emperor. Despite his tiny frame, he radiated power and confidence, so much so that the Pureblood had no trouble seeing why his allies stood by his side, even against such a menace. Even surrounded by the Dark Side, in the Emperor's fortress, outmatched and outnumbered, the Jedi practically _glowed._

Now that glow was all but gone, dimmed to a small golden ball light, deep inside inside him; hidden away for protection against the same forces that assaulted his mind. Looking at the Knight now, you could never have told what he had been- or what he was destined to become.

The Mirialan was curled into a little ball in the far corner of his cell, knees pulled tightly to his chest, almost as if the physical gesture of defense could protect him against the Emperor's will. His shaggy white hair was disheveled and unkempt, white strands falling in front of his face, framing light green skin and covering his eyes- bright red eyes screwed tightly shut, pretending that he wasn't here- that he was anywhere but here, because being here would mean that he had lost, and he couldn't accept that.  

The last time Scourge had seen those eyes, they had been full of defiance, and sparkled with muted rage. (Scourge had felt something close to envy then, when he saw just how in tune to his emotions the Jedi was.) Now, had they been open, all Scourge would have seen were dull eyes, glazed over with defeat.

It was pathetic: The Knight was utterly broken.

The Emperor had used his body as a temporary vessel, and played his mind carelessly, like a careless child infatuated with a new toy, until the Knight couldn't take anymore, and his mind snapped. If not lost to the bowels of insanity already,  his sanity must have been hanging on by a thread.

It angered Scourge, as much as his unfeeling state would allow him to feel rage. It angered him because he knew the searing potential the Jedi had, and the possibility of what he could accomplish. He could do so much, yet he was stuck here, wallowing in what could only have been fear and self pity. He didn't  _use_ any of it to his advantage, only sat there and played it like a fool, so much like any regular Jedi.

Just like the Knight's eyes suggested, with their dark, dark, red tint, he could so easily cast aside the shackles of the Light and grasp on to the power of his rage and fear. It would have been so simple. What held him back?  
He had anger and hate, he had so much more of these than any Jedi Scourge had seen in years, so why did he not grasp for it?

Scourge knew very little about this Jedi, but there were two things he knew for certain. The first was that he needed to help the Knight escape- to gather him (and his allies, for without them it was doubtful he would ever leave,) and run. The second was that this Mirialan was walking on a thin line. For the Jedi, using the force was like walking on a tightrope. The closer they came to using the Dark Side, to giving in to  _true_ power, the closer they came to falling, both physically and metaphysically, into the mind made dark chasm beneath them; and this Jedi, he was walking on a thin string indeed.


	2. Distrust and Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andiros sinks lower than he thought possible, yet somehow manages to gain an curious ally.

Silence.

Burning silence. Cold as ice, painful as fire, it gave him time to think, but he didn't want to, because when he could  _ **think,**_ he could  _ **remember.**_

He remembered the feeling of the Emperor first entering his mind. A sharp pain, like claws digging themselves into the insides of his skill and consciousness, ripping and lashing out at all they could reach- and their reach was long. He remembered falling to his knees, overwhelmed by pain, tears welling in his eyes and his  _screams_  as the pain became too much to hide.   
He remembered seeing his allies fall, their fate unknown. He remembered finding them alive, being led to them under heavy guard. They had been bound to some sort of operation tables, but alive and so far unharmed. He remembered being relieved, then afraid for their wellbeing. He remembered being horrified as the pain started up in his mind once more, shredding everything until anything after that memory was lost.

He could gather bits and pieces every so often, but the nature of the memories and the visions through which he acquired them frightened him almost as much as the threat of the unknown remaining a secret to him.

There were flashes of lightning, darkness punctured by terrified screams, the sounds of someone begging,  _pleading_ for mercy...He didn't know it was him screaming and pleading, or if...The Knight didn't want to admit it to himself, but he had a strange feeling that he knew what had transpired, what he couldn't remember. He knew if he found out, the truth would haunt him, but at the same time he desperately wanted to KNOW.

The signs had been a large clue. He'd noticed them; the marks. Curving along his hands, tracing up his arms and to his torso, curled with elegance that didn't fit their very nature. They were etched into his skin, these lightning scars, carved deep enough to bleed every time they he came back with no memory, scars extended to a new part of his body, dripping blood. They would never heal. Even with time, meditation, and medical sciences, they couldn't be covered or gotten rid of. He'd never be able to rid himself of the Dark Side's marks upon his very body.

At first he'd thought they'd only been hallucinations or visions, things procured from deep in his mind or conjured up by the Emperor, but when he ran his fingertips over them and almost collapsed from the overwhelming Dark Side energy that pulsed through him, he knew they were real.  
Now he had learned to distract himself by running his fingers over his arms and chest, shuddering both in pain and delight when it distracted him from his Nightmares, at the small price of a portion of his sanity and self-control. The Knight could feel the Dark slowly taking over his mind, picking him apart and forcing out or corrupting whatever light he managed to cling to during this ordeal. At first he had struggled, trying to only use this method of distracting himself when the pain of remembering became too much; yet he had found himself doing it more and more often, until it became something no less than an addiction.

It fed off the light within him, and was attracted by and to his darkness. It slowly became what kept him from completely losing his sanity, but the thread that kept him from falling into the chasm was fraying, and soon it would snap.

 

#

 

A day later- or more- was it more? Or less. Less? He had lost track of time long ago, but it felt like a day so a day it was. A day later, when he found more scars, spread down from his chest to his abdomen, warm blood staining his shirt, making the cloth stick uncomfortably to his green skin, he was bombarded by yet another torturous memory.  
Forgetting was just as bad as remembering, in this case, and he looked forward to neither.

This one was... _different_  from the others. Instead of the lightning and the screaming and insanity, there was a silent stare. A gaze of someone he didn't know; red eyes, red like his own, red like his  _blood_ , gazing at him with something akin to curiosity. It was strange, not as painful as the visions he was so used to getting. Was this a trick of some sort? Some way for the Emperor to...to...? To make him even worse off than he already was?

He hated it.

The Knight hated being looked at like some sort of experiment, to be poked and prodded until he broke or wasn’t useful anymore. _‘But,’_ he realized, choking down a sob of anguish, _‘That’s exactly what I am.’_

Now he was thinking again, and through the pain of realization, he noted that he needed to be distracted again. Slowly, hesitantly, trying to convince himself that **_yes,_** this **_was_** his choice, and **_no,_** he wasn’t ruled by his fear or ANYTHING ELSE, he rolled up his sleeves and drew his fingers delicately up his arms, tracing each indent delicately, carefully, then digging his fingernails into his skin and howling in pain when he thought he would go back to the visions. He shivered, overcoming the pain somehow and translating it into pleasure from momentary escape from reality.  
Running his hands down his chest, pressing the cloth to his ruined skin, absorbing the blood; it made him hiss in pain and tense. It was a deadly back and forth game he played with himself, quickly cycling from pain to pleasure to pain- not letting him get too hooked on to one thing- it was dangerous.  
When he felt the darkness take too deep a hold on his mind, one that could so easily raise these sensations from an addiction to pure **_need,_** he drew away from himself.

The broken Knight took in a shuddering breath and returned to his usual position: Knees pulled up against his chest, head buried between them, back pressed up against the wall.

Broken.

 

#

 

It had been longer than usual now. So long, in fact, that he had started to believe, _hope,_ almost, that the Emperor had finally gotten tired of him and just left him to die. It would have been a welcome mercy, compared to what was being done to him now. This torture; these mind games. He’d been here so long, had his mind turned inside out and fucked with so much that he’d almost completely forgotten what freedom felt like.

Safety.

Hope.

They were both unknown to him now. He couldn’t imagine existence without all of this anymore- not even in death did he feel he would be freed. This would haunt him forever, no matter how he tried to put himself out of his own misery.

The Knight didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to give himself any false hope. False, because any hope here would be wasted at best, or at worse turned against you. He’d learned that quickly.

But when he heard the sound of a door creak open, and saw just who exactly was standing in the doorway to his prison, he realized the ability to hope might have been what he needed.

“Sergeant! Kira!” The Knight cried out in some strange semblance of relief and joy at seeing them alive. This place had twisted his emotions, but hadn’t removed them entirely. His voice was hoarse from not speaking since he’d been brought here, but his emotions, however disturbed, were clear.

The looks on their faces, however, twin looks of distrust and suspicion, had his brief moment of joy and relief spiraling away. Why would- why would they look at him like that? Why did Rusk look angry, like he’d been stabbed in the back by someone he’d called ‘friend?’ Why did Kira look so betrayed?

He wondered if this was another of the Emperor’s tricks, if this was what happened _every_ time he forgot. Slowly, his eyes- his eyes that had regained their former shine for all of that moment- dulled once more. He lowered his head. What was the point to all this? Was the Emperor trying to make a point, or just toy with him? Was he trying to raise him to believe in a false hope, only to bring him crashing right back down, lower this time, when it turned out to be a lie?

Better to just stop. Stay put. Pray they leave.

“Master?” Kira’s hesitant voice filled his prison and drove a nail through his already damaged heart. “Master, we need to go.” She was being gentle, taking care of her friend- no, the **_illusion_** was doing all this, not Kira. This wasn’t her!

He wouldn’t fall for any of the Emperor’s tricks again. He knew better then to hope.

“Jedi!” Rusk, this time. Harsh, commanding, impatient…hurt. “We have an… _ally_ helping us, but we need to get out **_now_** , before the entire Empire knows that we’re escaping!”

The tiny Jedi did his best to block them out, bringing his hands up and clamping them over his ears. He curled in on himself tighter, obscuring them from his view, desperately trying to convince himself that they didn’t exist. If they didn’t exist, they couldn’t tell him to do anything, and he’d know not to make any foolish choices.  
He heard muffled noises coming from above him, but they weren’t real, none of them were real. Lies- that’s what they were. _Lies_ , all of them. Lies trying to convince him to hope, to think he had a chance. He’d been a **fool** to come here, to think that he could _actually_ -

His bleak thoughts of self-pity were rudely interrupted by an arm reaching for him, fingers entangling themselves in his hair and yanking his head up. The owner of the offending limb, Rusk, shoved him up against the wall with an angry growl. Fury boiled over in the sergeant’s eyes, and a scowl etched itself deep onto his face.

“We are risking our **_lives_** for you, Jedi!” He shouted. Behind him, Kira made a move that looked like she wanted to stop him, but held herself back.  
“There are people **_fighting_** and **_dying_** for us- for **_you!_** Don’t you _dare_ tell us that the person we’re fighting for is dead or gone; I won’t believe it! Show me the Jedi I know, don’t show me… ** _this_**.”  
With that, the Trooper dropped the Knight carelessly to the floor. His chest was heaving with other emotions left unspoken as he gazed down at the Mirialan. His face relaxed, scowl replaced by a tight-lipped frown instead, but his eyes were kinder then he gave away, despite the exasperation and anger clouding them.

“Master? Come on, we REALLY need to go…” Kira tried pleading, looking at the Knight with pained eyes. She couldn’t stand seeing him, the man who had helped her through so many rough patches, weak and broken while she was unable to do anything about it. No clever banter was going to help him now, and even If it would have, her normal sense of humor and witty comments were absent. It seemed the gloom of this place had shut her down somewhat too.  

“But you’re not **_real,_** ” The Knight protested, voice cracking on the last word, as if close to tears. “He’s **_lying_** to me!”

Rusk had had enough. He wasn’t here to save a walking talking pity party, and there was no time to waste by trying to get him to calm down. There was only for far the sergeant patience could be pushed, and his commander had just broken that boundary. He couldn’t deny that he was most certainly traumatized and not thinking clearly, he even understood somewhat from his own time here, but he refused to let him sit down and sob his little heart out like some child.

“ **Enough**! I’ll drag you if I need to, _Jedi!”_ He grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet. Despite his protest, which were weak but heated, Rusk forced him out of the cell, followed by a concerned but slightly entertained Kira.

The Knight was babbling about ‘forgetting,’ and ‘lies,’ and ‘false hope.’ Every so often his ranting was cut short by a fearful whisper of violent shudder. Sometimes he flailed, kicking out weakly and trying to pull himself free. It was widely harmless, but distracting and annoying to the Trooper, who solved the problem by simply hoisting the little Jedi over his shoulder, purposefully transferring his gun to his good arm, leaving the other to hold the Jedi in place.

They ran through the halls like this, with Kira scouting on ahead, warning them if there were any enemies ahead, and if so, how to avoid them. Jedi intuition and sensing powers were useful sometimes, Rusk supposed, but there was nothing better than a trusted weapon at your side. They tried to avoid conflict, a job they were quite unskilled at, thanks to years of getting INTO trouble on purpose, and never really needing any way out. Not out of something this huge, at least.  
Unfortunately, confrontation was unavoidable. Kira always led the attack, jumping at the guards with her Lightsaber activated, drawing their attention away from her companions, allowing Rusk to pick them off one by one with his blaster rifle. At least the Knight had finally gone limp, allowing the Trooper full concentration on the battles.    

Still, there was a suspicious lack of opposition as they continued on towards the docking bay. Rusk was suspicious of their new ‘ally,’ and voiced as much to Kira, who shook her head and mumbled something softly under her breath, shooting her master another concerned look as she did so.

Despite Rusk’s worries, they weren’t immediately betrayed upon entering the docking bay. Instead of an armed assault squad, ahead of them lay a small starship, capable of carrying them all to safety. Doc was at the helm, getting it ready, with T7 at his side. The human waved, (more at Kira than anything,) and motioned them aboard.

The two of them burst into a full sprint, eager to get away from this hellish place, and unwilling to fall after coming so far. Also, considering the potential snipers that may have been hiding above them, neither was particularly eager to see how fast the both of them could be shot in the head.  
When they reached the docking ramp, they hastily clambered aboard. It closed behind them, and Doc fired up the ship’s engines. They were running out of time. In about two minutes, the fortress’s shields would come up, and there was no way this ship could break through those.  
The doctor’s hands flew swiftly across the control panel, and within moments the ship purred to life and took off. He guided it out and away, setting course for the nearest Republic friendly planet- Coruscant, before collapsing into the captain’s chair, slouching horribly. He was sweating, trembling, but it couldn’t stop him from grinning,

They’d made it.

Farther down in the ship, Kira and Rusk stopped to catch their breath. Kira’s hands were shaking with adrenaline. She stuffed them into her pockets to avoid any questions, then turned to check on Rusk. The sergeant was fine, but the Knight… He’d lowered him to the floor. His bright red eyes were darting every which way, wide in confusion and pupils contracted into little pinpricks of fear. His breathing was uneven and labored, each shaky inhale making his lungs rattle in his chest. He tried to roll over and pick himself up, only to have his arms give away and send him falling face-first onto the cold durasteel. There he lay; afraid, shocked, confused, and at a total loss for the Emperor’s motives in allowing him to escape.

“Doc!” Kira screamed, rushing over to the Knight’s side. “Get over here, we need your help!”

“Hmm? Come again?” Doc teased. His heart wasn’t in it though- he was much too tired. Instead, he trudged over to her and the fallen Jedi, wincing at the sight. “Oh…Oh he really **_is_** a mess, isn’t he?”

“Don’t bother.”

Kira sensed the owner of the voice before any of the others did. She whirled around, lightsaber drawn in the blink of an eye, tip leveled with the neck of the Pureblood who stood behind them. Rusk too had his weapon drawn. The commotion brought T7 whirling into the room, beeping and screeching.

The Sith raised empty palms, then motioned towards the Jedi on the floor with one hand. “Your methods of healing won’t be able to do anything for the wounds he’s suffered.” Doc bristled, opened his mouth to protest, but scourge cut him off. “Wounds brought upon by the Force can only be healed by the Force. It is a simple concept to grasp, even for one blind to the secrets of the Force- such as yourself.”

“Why should we believe you?” Kira asked. “For all we know, you’ll just end up making him worse!”

“Worse than this?” Scourge questioned, nodding towards the Knight, indicating the sorry state he was in. “Besides, I helped you escape at the cost of everything I’d built in the past three hundred years. Do you really think I’d waste it all on trying to kill and already dying Jedi?”

They had to admit, he had a point. Kira looked at Rusk and Doc for approval before she sighed and gave in. “Fine. T7, set course for Tython. Doc-“

“Take care of him. Yup, got it.” Doc confirmed, but made no move to aid the Knight on the floor. Angering the big, menacing Sith in front of him would **_definitely_** be a terrible career choice.

“Rusk, you and me are going to keep an eye on this guy. If you make one wrong move, Sith…” She left her threat unfinished. All it seemed to do was amuse the Pureblood, who upon feeling someone’s eyes upon him, cocked his head to view the Jedi on the floor.

His eyes were locked onto Scourge’s own. The Knight looked like he was trying to remember something, but all he could think of was how similar those eyes looked to the ones he’d seen in his vision. Now those eyes, devoid of all emotion, were the last thing he saw before his strength failed him entirely. Darkness overcame him, and unable to hold out any longer, he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How strange that I haven't used Andiros' name in the story yet, but told it to you twice. Saving it up for dramatic purposes, maybe?


	3. Shattered Shell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things break- mostly self confidence, possibly a bit of sanity
> 
>  
> 
> WOOP WOOP IM BACK YA'LL  
> After losing my drafts because of a corrupt file, loosing them AGAIN because I had to wipe my pc, being a little fucker who hyper-fixated on WoW for YEARS AND IS STILL GOING- I R E T U R N  
> Hopefully with more updates for you! I got this lovely, and another three in the works!

They reached Tython a few hours later, touching down on a small landing pad in the middle of the Jedi Temple, one specifically reserved for them. T7 had contacted the counsel to let them know they’d be docking and that, because of the urgency of their _situation_ , (a situation not elaborated upon,) they needed to be isolated- at least in landing.

Rusk had specifically instructed T7 to leave out the itty-bitty non-essential _completely unimportant_ fact that they had brought a Sith Lord, (and not just **ANY** Sith Lord, mind you, **_The Emperor’s Wrath himself_** ,) along. Just a minute detail, anyone could have missed it. Of course he claimed it was to avoid mass panic, but most others onboard (Wrath included) knew he hoped someone would _‘accidentally’_ shoot the Sith in the back. Totally irrelevant. Nothing _suspicious_ **_here_** , no _siree_.

Kira had commented on it to him under her breath, wary of Scourge overhearing, before going to check up on her master. Doc had done all he could for the Knight’s physical wounds, (“Therapy not included,” Kira once commented wryly to the doctor,) including bandaging up his strange new scars and forbidding him from unwrapping them _under any circumstance_. When he’d been satisfied with his work, and that there was nothing more he could do for the injured Jedi, (which had been difficult for him to admit to himself, having never faced a problem he couldn’t heal,) he’d discharged him and told the little Knight to go get some sleep.

The Knight had trudged lifelessly over to his quarters and collapsed onto his bed, silent but grateful to have something more comfortable than his old cell’s barren, cold floor to sleep on. With the soft blankets and pillows enveloping him in their warmth like a protective cocoon, (a luxury he hadn’t had in _months_ , mind you,) he managed to fall into a deep sleep, though not without effort. He had still been on edge, expecting to be rudely awoken by a cacophony of screams or a bolt of lightning aimed in his direction by a nameless, faceless Sith. Getting used to the idea of safety and comfort was going to take him some time. He didn’t have long, however, until Kira finished speaking with Rusk and came to wake him up.

There was a single, solitary window in the Knight’s quarters: a small, circular, port-hole looking thing fitted with shutters to prevent any stray light from entering his room. Kira was kind enough to keep the shutters closed, walking past them over to her master’s side and gently placing a hand on his shoulder. She shook him gently, cautiously. Who knew how he would react to touch after…all he had been through.

“Wake up, Sunshine,” she whispered, careful to avoid or put less pressure on any of the bandaged areas on his body; namely his arms, shoulders, neck, and the top of his torso. The sleeping Knight inched away from her touch, unconsciously pulling his blankets tighter around himself. It would have been cute, had it not been so unlike the person he had been before.

“Hey. _Hey._ Kira to Green Bean, come in Green Bean.”

Kira used her favorite nickname for the Jedi. She had picked it up early on in their friendship, when he’d casually remarked that he hated green beans, to which Kira had shot him an incredulous look and responded with; “But you both look the same, they’re your FAMILY!” She smiled fondly at the memory, but it quickly dropped from her face when she saw the distress the Knight was in. She withdrew her hand, and he seemed slightly calmer without it so close to his person. Kira had no idea what they’d done to him back there, but she hoped that whatever this Jedi meditation cave thing was, it helped him. He had appeared so dull and meek while they had made their grand escape, a complete difference from the boisterous, shining man she remembered him as.

The Knight’s eyelids fluttered; he was on the verge of waking up, but seemed to be struggling with himself. His brows knitted as his expression contorted to one of distress, then worry, and then he was awake. He jolted upwards with a panicked yelp, still groggy and unaware, fearful of his surroundings and the figure by the side of- of his bed? There was a pause in his panicking for him to grind his palms into his eyes, clearing most of his blurry vision, and when his mind confirmed that he was where he thought he was, he lurched backwards in suspicion, right into a mound of pillows. He froze there, frightened of the sudden change from prison cell to comfortable quarters, and tried to remember how he got here, if he was even ‘here’ at all. It could easily be The Emperor toying with his mind again, he reasoned, and weakly struggled to move away from the figure.

“Heyheyhey- Green Bean, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s just me. You know, Kira? Your friendly neighborhood Jedi nuisance? You remember me, right?” Kira pointed at herself with a little grin. “I mean I’m pretty sure I’d be hard to forget, what with all the trouble we’ve caused together, but, hey! So anyway, how was your beauty sleep?”

At this, the Jedi seemed to calm down somewhat, visibly letting his shoulders loosen and changing his expression back to one of exhaustion rather than panic or fear. Still, he seemed sick, or hurt, or _something_. He wasn’t _right,_ and really, could Kira expect him to be totally normal after months as The Emperor’s personal plaything?

In response to her question, the Jedi simply shook his head. Loose strands of white hair, or formerly white hair, as they’d been turned more gray then white by both stress and lack of proper ways to clean himself in that little prison cell, fell over his eyes, obscuring his blank stare. For as comfortable as his bed was, the sudden change of… _everything_ , and the lingering pain and corruption in his mind hadn’t made for the most restful of nights. Most of it had been spent tossing and turning, gripped by the sharp claws of yet another nightmare, and escaping to the waking world had proved impossible as the nightmares dug their claws ever deeper. It was a good thing she’d woken him up, he reasoned, else he might never have been able to wake.

“Well, we have a solution to all that!” Kira chirped, letting the unsaid but understood ‘maybe’ hover toxically in the air until her joyful demeanor (tried) to brush it away. She doubted acting cheerful in the face of both of their worries would do either of them much good, but what was that old Jedi saying? “ _Do and you shall feel?”_ Something like that, and anyway, it couldn’t hurt to try.

“We’re on Tython again-“ Seeing the sudden horror on the Knight’s face and quickly guessing why it was there, she held up her hands and made small (but frantic) calming gestures. “Whoa, whoa, calm down, it’s alright. We’re in a private dock, you don’t need to go out until you feel you can.” Slowly, he nodded and allowed her to continue.

“You remember that super-secret-but-not-really crystal cave we _accidentally_ found that one time that was a totally-not-on-purpose-accident?” Another nod from the Knight, and though his expression remained dull, he let out a huff of air that could be translated as amusement and fell back onto his pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling. Kira counted the amusement as a victory, inwardly cheered at the minute progress, and forged onwards in her speech.

“Turns out its really good for… _healing?”_ She elongated the word then proceeded to explain. “Found some ancient texts- you know how the ancient Jedi _loved_ those- that said something about recuperative properties in the crystals then went on in some strange language that I couldn’t translate buuuuuut we might as well give it a go, yeah?”

She watched as a thoughtful look spread across her friend’s features, and broke into a large grin when he gave her a shallow nod. This was good- _very_ good! It meant that whatever he was going through, no matter how difficult it all was for him, he was willing, _trying_ to set everything right. To heal himself. The Emperor hadn’t twisted him into some kind of monster, (her heart shook at the thought of seeing her closest friend loose himself to the Emperor’s thrall), he was still in there somewhere.

“And look!” From out of nowhere, Kira pulled a small bundle of cloth. It was white with a metallic gold trim, and she unfurled it and held it up for the Knight to view. “What do you think, Sunshine? Your colors?”

It was a cloak, one of the Knight’s lesser used articles of clothing, the one he only used for formal occasions. It was maybe a bit too flashy for their purposes, but it was _his_ and it was in his favorite colors. Rusk had actually offered to lend one of his, but it had turned out to be much too large, much too shot up, and much too dark. Kira didn’t want to risk showing it to the Knight for fear of him tying it to a Sith. (Curse them and their enigmatic clothing, they made fashion so much harder for everyone else. Black was practically taboo now.)

There was a flicker of… _something_ in the Knight’s eyes, but it faded just as quickly as it came. Those red orbs stayed locked on the cloak as Kira laid it out on his bed. She gave one of his hands a gentle pat, shooting him one more smile before slipping out of his room to give him some privacy.

 

#

 

Sunshine.

It had been so long since he had seen it. So long since he had seen any natural light at all. He remembered vaguely that Kira used to call him “The Sunshine Knight,” though he could no longer remember why. It hurt when he tried to call upon his memories, a building throb in the back of his head that refused to relent until he turned his mind to other matters.

Reaching out, he drew the cloak closer, holding it in his lap. His gaze roamed over the intricate gold trim, prompting another wave of memories-but-not-quite to crash over him, this time making him double over as pain shot through his skull.

_“I can’t breathe.”_

The thought crossed his mind, briefly breaking through the pain and alerting him to the ache in his lungs and the pressure in his skull. There was a moment of panic as he tried and failed to draw breath, the lack of memory still plaguing him to the point where his subconscious was ignoring his need to breathe in favor of trying and failing to right itself. He felt empty, and for the briefest moment he could swear he heard a voice talking in the distance.

The Knight tried straining to hear what was being said, even as darkness encroached in his vision. He was so close, the distant whispers almost forming coherent words when a loud sound startled him back to the present.

A rattling breath shook his small form as it took in air after going far too long without it. Looking around for the cause of the sound, the Knight’s sights settled on the cloak on his lap. The decorative regalia had been torn off, leaving a ruined patch of threads on the back of the cloth. But…it had been there when Kira had given it to him, so how…?

Then his gazed drifted to his hands. One was clutching the golden symbol of the Republic, the other was unraveling the bandages on the opposite arm. He watched, distant, as if he were a guest in another’s body, as the hand- _his hand-_ continued carelessly unraveling bandages, nails scraping scars almost every time they were given the chance. Small rivulets of blood were running down his forearm, staining the symbol he held. His gaze slowly lifted to watch the symbol, stitched with what had once looked like woven gold, turned a deep crimson as more and more blood flowed into it.

The Knight suddenly snapped his arm out to the side, throwing the ruined regalia to one side of the room in an act of clarity. The cloak was thrown off of him moments later, following the regalia, and he did a hasty job of rebandaging himself. When the bandages didn’t cooperate, he cut them short with his teeth and did his best to work with the rest.

It had taken a few minutes to throw aside his cloak and rebandage himself, but in his panic it felt like seconds. No one could know about this- about the whispering and the…the lack of control. He was tainted, he knew, ruined by the Emperor’s hand, but no one needed that knowledge but him. What would they do if they knew? He’d already suffered so much, he didn’t want to suffer any more, and no matter what they said, he knew with a certainty of which he’d never felt before that if the Jedi caught knowledge of this… _thing_ he’d become, they’d make it all so much worse.

He needed to get up. To act normal. To act like himself. But…he didn’t remember what that was. His memories, stolen, left him with nothing to tell him what he had been like before all of… _this._ All he knew was the broken creature kneeling in the corner of its cage, how was he supposed to fake normalcy through all of it?!

A bout of nausea swept over him. It was all too much, too soon. He needed to stop thinking about it, or he would drive himself insane- _more_ insane than he likely already was.

The Knight inhaled slowly, taking a moment to steel himself.

_“Hold till it hurts.”_

He swung his legs over the side of the bed.

_“Exhale until there’s no air left.”_

He stood up.

_“Repeat.”_

He stood there for a while, just breathing. His body was still trembling, but his mind managed to drift away from his grim thoughts. For a brief moment his head was clearer than it had been in months, it was an almost peaceful feeling- and then a knock on the door startled him out if it. Kira’s voice, muffled by a layer of durasteel sounded behind his door.

“You still awake in there, Green Bean?”

The Knight’s gaze darted from the ripped cloak on the floor to his closet. He didn’t want her to know about what had happened while she was gone, he couldn’t just pick another cloak or she’d ask questions, but the one she gave him…hurt. It hurt and he had tried to tear it apart, even without knowing he did it. He was torn between comfort and secrecy until another knock on the door made him move toward the closest option.

He picked up the white and gold cloth, pulling it over his shoulders and throwing the hood on, making sure it covered his face sufficiently before wrapping the sides around himself, making sure to cover the hole where the Republic regalia had been a few minutes prior. It was uncomfortable, drawing his mind to exactly where he didn’t want it, but it seemed that was the price to pay for _‘normalcy.’_

A third knock sounded before he opened his door.

“I-“

What the Knight was going to say was that he was ready to leave, but the words were ripped from his throat at the sight that awaited him. Kira and Rusk were there, yes, but he barely registered them. Instead, his gaze was entirely caught by the Pureblood standing _right in front of him._ He was tall, towering over the small Mirialan, but that didn’t register either because _it was a Pureblood and they were **right in front of him and he couldn’t breathe again.**_

_“Bean-“_ Kira’s urgent words all fell upon unhearing ears as the Knight stood frozen, locked in place by a red gaze locking with his own. In the dark of the ship, it almost looked like the Pureblood’s eyes were glowing, and at that very moment the Knight felt like he was being seen through, _pierced_ by that frightening gaze.

The world was frozen around him. Nothing existed but the man in front of him, and the aura that surrounded him, no, _spilled_ _from him_ , churned around the two of them. It didn’t exist in the physical realm, but the Knight was so sure he could see it. A sickly red, too dark in some places and too pale in others. It surrounded him, forced its way down his throat, _choked him._ He could taste in now, a sharp metallic flavor that invaded his body in a way that it had no right to do, so strong that it made his knees buckle.

The Emperor hadn’t let them escape after all; he had sent his hand, his weapon, his _message._ It was a message after all, wasn’t it? That no matter how far he ran, he’d always be found in the end- and he couldn’t move, couldn’t muster up the courage to fight- and as the scars marking his body began to throb under their bandages, all he could do was fall…

He collapsed to his knees, somehow still locking eyes with the Pureblood. A flash of… _something_ seemed to cross the Sith’s face, an emotion (because that’s what it had to be) that couldn’t be deciphered, and he abruptly looked away from the fallen Knight, breaking the spell that had washed over him.

Who…?

_How…?_


End file.
